


Always Nobel

by solrosan



Series: A Nobel Fandom [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi, Nobel Prize, Sherlock is a fanboy, Uncle Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5410592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrosan/pseuds/solrosan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock might not be a fan of Christmas, but he is a fan of other things. Like, the Nobel Prize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nobel 2015

**Author's Note:**

> A bit rushed, sorry about that, but still a bit late since Christmas party at work stopped me for posting this on Nobel Day.

“Here are your lists.”

Sherlock held out a bundle of papers to John and one to Mary. John took his without giving it a second glance. He put it down next to his breakfast and continued reading the newspaper. Mary, with Alice in her lap, looked at hers with curious suspicion.

“What is this?” she asked. 

“Ah,” Sherlock said, leaning over the table and pointed with the pen on the titles listed. “I’ve categorised them after prize category and then after rumoured relevance according to various expert groups and forums – though, you never know. Interesting reads, most of the time, either way. Then the last page is just a few classics and personal favourites that I think everyone should have read at least ones.”

“Again, what is this, Sherlock?”

“Nobel Prize prep,” John said without looking up. “Sherlock _really_ likes the Nobel Prize.”

Sherlock snorted. “Excuse me for thinking it’s more important acknowledging and celebrating people who actually do something that benefits humanity and contribute to the progression of our species rather than idiots with no other skillset than being able to kick a ball with their foot.”

“You have no idea how much football contribute to our species,” muttered John, demonstratively turning to the sport section of the newspaper. 

“Discovering nitric oxide as a signal molecule is far more relevant for our continued existence on this planet! Or developing the density-functional theory. Or—”

John looked up with a great smile. “You’re far too easy.”

Sherlock huffed. 

“Boys…” Mary waved her the list in front of them. “Still not getting this.”

“Before the announcements each year,” John started, “Sherlock reads a bunch of scientific articles written by people rumoured to get the Nobel Prize – was it last year we read 500 articles about the Higgs boson?”

“Two years ago,” said Sherlock. “Last year was blue light diodes.”

“Right. Anyway, that’s one of the rare times when you could predict what’s coming. Mostly it’s just blind guessing, but then we read the actual publications after the winners are announced.”

“Okay…” Mary didn’t sound convinced. “Why do I have to read too?”

John grinned. “Because it’s Christmas.”

“It’s _not_ Christmas!” Sherlock protested. “It’s an achievement based award ceremony; not a holiday based on religious mockery and—“

“So easy,” John said. Sherlock closed his mouth loudly.

“You think this is fun?” Mary looked sceptical.

“I promise,” John said. “It’ll grow on you too.”

“I highly doubt that,” Mary muttered, flipping through her list.

John turned to Sherlock. “What do they say about the Physiology or Medicine Prize?”

“There’s a lot of talk about CRISPR, both for that and the Chemistry Prize,” Sherlock said, picking up John’s list and pointing to an article by Feng Zhang. “It’s amazing, I read it last year already. It’ll definitely get the prize eventually, but I think it’s a too recent discovery. No, seeing how the prize was directed towards physiology last year, I think it’s going to be more medicine oriented this time…”

He kept on talking, pointing at different articles as he went along and explained why he had put them on John’s reading list. John listened and made small notes in the margin about some of the articles. 

Mary shook her head, but smiled. “Your dads are a little bit strange,” she whispered to Alice, who didn’t seem to care at all.

* * *

“…and this is Ada E. Yonath. She got the Chemistry Prize because of her studies of ribosomes. Can you say ‘ribosome’?”

“I think you have to lower your expectations, Sherlock,” Mary said, putting down a mug of tea next to him on the floor where he was sitting with Alice, holding up a photo of an old woman. “She can’t even say your name yet.”

“Ribosomes are far more important than my name,” Sherlock said.

“Not in her world.”

“In everyone’s world.”

“Idiot,” Mary said affectionately, patting his head before walking over to sit next to John on the sofa. “What’s he even doing?” she asked.

“Hm?” John looked up from his assigned reading – he was half way through his chemistry list by now – and reached out for his tea as Mary gave it to him. 

Mary nodded at Sherlock and Alice on the floor.

“Oh, I think he’s trying to inspire her to win the Nobel Prize by showing her all the women who have received it,” John said. “He said something about children needing role models, and apparently we didn’t make the cut.”

“You have some appealing qualities, but you’re no geniuses,” Sherlock said without taking his focus from Alice. 

“Smooth talker,” said Mary. She raised her tea mug to John. “To our appealing qualities.”

“Stop stalling and do your reading,” John said, winking. 

Mary sighed, reaching for her article by George A. Olah. “If there’s a test by the end of this, I will take out my gun again.”

John chuckled and picked up the next article in his pile.

* * *

By the end of September, there were scientific articles on just about every flat surface in the sitting room and kitchen. Sherlock’s nine piles (former laureates, speculated nominees, personal favourites for all three sciences prizes) had split up into fifteen piles, and morphed into John’s and Mary’s. (Though their piles weren’t really piles anymore.) 

Sherlock stood in the opening between the sitting room and the kitchen, hair standing in every direction after having run his fingers through it one too many times.

“I’m not going to make it,” he said, sounding equal parts surprised and rueful. 

John looked up from his trash novel – “It’s a pallet cleanser!” – and followed Sherlock’s gaze over the massive chaos of paper that currently was their home. “Are you sure? You might just have placed some in the wrong… pile… or, something.”

“No, I’ve followed the list,” Sherlock said, frowning. “I don’t understand. One month, forty-eight papers; that’s even less than last year! It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Well, last year you were on strict bedrest after you and Mary had decided to be the death of me,” John said, a slight edge in his voice. “This year, you’ve spent ten days trying to teach Alice saying ‘quasicrystal’ and telling her that Pierre Curie’s only real contribution to science was fathering Irène Joliot-Curie.”

“Oh,” Sherlock said, his expression completely blank. Then he shrugged, and started to go through one of the many piles of articles.

“Time well spent?” John asked.

“Hopefully time not entirely wasted, at least,” said Sherlock, picking up one of the articles. “It’s not like I’d manage to read all the relevant articles anyway, but I have to take this into consideration for next year’s planning.”

John shook his head, making sure that he hid his smile behind his book.

-x-

Monday came. 

Sherlock was up early – or he hadn’t gone to bed at all, it was hard to tell since he had been wearing different dressing gowns for the last week – and had made breakfast when the Watsons came downstairs.

“This is new,” Mary said, picking up a warm toast with amazement. 

“Nobel week,” said John, putting Alice down in her chair. “Strange and amazing things happen.”

Mary smiled. She sat down at the table and started to put together breakfast to her daughter. 

“Any favourite for today?” she asked Sherlock.

“Plenty, but I don’t speculate.”

“Speculating and having favourites aren’t the same.”

Sherlock shrugged, bringing his tea with him to sit on the sofa. He started to rig up the computer on the coffee table.

“It’s still three hours until it’s time,” Mary said after a glance at the clock.

Sherlock ignored her and John shook his head for her to be quiet. There was no use in arguing with him about it, and after a couple of hours the bland phone queue music from the live stream actually became rather catchy. John and Mary joined Sherlock in the sofa when it was about ten minutes until the prize was going to be announced. John had Alice in his lap, trying to entertain her with a stuffed toy bumblebee to keep her happy, if not quiet. 

“I’m nervous,” Mary whispered to John – and got shushed by Sherlock. “Why am I nervous?”

“I told you it’d grow on you,” John whispered back, winking. 

They sat in silence – everyone but Alice who giggled every time John bumped the bumblebee against her forehead. Sherlock didn’t seem to mind the noise, and when the doors opened in the lecture hall in the live stream, he turned up the volume rather than asking John to keep Alice quiet. John stopped bumping his daughter in the head anyway to focus on the stream too.

“What language is that?” Mary asked when the press conference started. 

“Swedish,” both John and Sherlock said without taking their eyes off the screen.

“I told you it’d be medicine,” Sherlock whispered under his breath when the motivation was read in English, and it was clear to them all that the prize had been awarded to William C. Campbell, Satoshi Ohmura, and Youyou Tu.

“Well?” Mary said when she dared to speak again.

Sherlock muted the computer. “Boring, but well earned, I suppose.”

“Very well earned,” John said, turning his attention back to Alice who wasn’t happy with the lack of attention for seven minutes whole minutes. “We talked a lot about parasites in Afghanistan. And malaria. Not so much for our boys, but the locals…”

Mary and Sherlock looked at each other. John had switched to his Daddy Voice which made it very hard to take anything he said about parasites in Afghanistan seriously. 

“So now what?” Mary asked, turning to Sherlock.

“Give it two, five minutes, and they’ll have the name of their publications so we can find them and read them.” 

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, getting up. “I’m going to make some more tea. Do you want some?”

“If I’m going to read more of this, I’d rather have coffee,” Mary said, jumping up to follow him. “Preferably Irish.”

“I’ll take tea, if anyone cares!” John called out after them. Then he bumped Alice’s forehead with the bumblebee again, her laughter mixing with Mary and Sherlock’s bickering in the kitchen.

Nobel week was off to a good start.

-x-

Sherlock smacked the laptop close two seconds after _Kungliga Vetenskapsakademin_ had announced that Takaaki Kajita and Arthur B. McDonald had received the Nobel Prize in Physics. 

Mary gave John a questioning look, but John shrugged. He had no idea.

“Okay…” John said, when Sherlock jumped to his feet. “What did neutrinos ever do to you?”

“Nothing!” Sherlock threw his hands in the air. “I barely know what it is!”

Mary and John exchanged another confused look.

“It’s fifty-two years since a woman got the Physics Prize,” Sherlock kept going. “And it’s not like there is a lack of them! Vera Rubin, Lene Hau, Deborah Jin!”

“Sherlock,” John said, sharply. “Indoor voice? Alice’s sleeping.”

Sherlock exhaled loudly through the nose.

“And since when do you care about the gender the person with the brain has?” John asked, amused.

Sherlock glared at him as if he was the stupidest person in the world, but his ears turned red. “I’m still just interested in the discoveries,” he muttered. “But I read a study that says that – irrational as it seems – gender representation is important to form children’s ideas of what they can and cannot do. As is race, sexual orientation, and a long list of things, and since Alice’s Caucasian and not even a year old, the only thing I can go on is assigned gender.”

John grinned.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“You’re strange.”

Mary hit John on the thigh to shut him up. 

“It’s scientifically proven,” said Sherlock. “And I’d like there to be more women to point to when she’s old enough to comprehend the world.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” Mary said, reaching out to catch him by the wrist. She smiled up at him. “Who knew you’d be the crazy football dad out of the three of us.”

“I’m not her dad. She clearly has John’s nose and chin.”

“Interesting how your argument isn’t built on not having had sex with my wife,” John said. “Is there something you two aren’t telling me?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and Mary slapped John on the thigh again. 

John snickered.

“What do you say?” John said, opening the laptop again. “Tea and sexist neutrinos?”

“It’s a particle; it can’t be sexist,” Sherlock muttered. “The Swedes are. I’ll get the tea.”

Mary hid her face in her hands, breaking down giggling, as soon as Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen.

-x-

John and Mary stood by the side of the sofa. There, asleep, lay Sherlock on the very edge. Between him and the back of the sofa, lay Alice, sleeping just as soundly. Alice had been a nightmare last night; refusing to go to bed, refusing to stay in bed, refusing to stop playing, refusing to for a second to be quiet. After four hours, when Mary had been on the verge of tears, Sherlock had picked up Alice and left the bedroom with an order to the other two to sleep.

“How long do you think they were up?” Mary whispered. 

“When I went to pee at two he was still reading aloud.”

“Articles?”

“Mm… Shechtman, I think — It’s one of his favourites.”

Mary smiled, shaking her head. “It’d almost be a shame to wake them.”

“He’ll never forgive us if we don’t,” John said. “Today’s Christmas Day.”

Mary frowned.

“They announce the Chemistry Prize today,” John said, putting his hand on Sherlock’s wrist, shaking it lightly. “Sherlock, wake up.”

“Mnnmnnn….” Sherlock mumbled, trying to kick away John.

“They’ve already started the stream from Stockholm.”

Sherlock startled, falling off the sofa and almost hitting his head on the table. Mary yelled. Alice woke up, crying. 

“You okay?” John asked, smiling and reaching down to help Sherlock off the floor. 

“I’m fine,” Sherlock muttered, taking John’s hand. 

“I’m sorry. There’s no rush; it’s at least another 15 minutes until it actually starts.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Sherlock again. He ran his fingers through his hair, yawning. “Where’s the laptop?”

“In the kitchen,” Mary said. She had picked up Alice and was gently trying to shush her, but it wasn’t quite working. “I’m taking her to the bedroom so you two can watch the thing.”

“No, I’ll take her,” John said, reaching for his daughter. “It’s your first Nobel Week, you should have it all.”

“No one’s going anywhere,” Sherlock said. “I’m getting the computer; you all sit down. It’s Alice’s first Nobel Week too.”

“But what if she doesn’t stop crying—“ John started.

“Sit.”

John sat down without arguing further. Mary handed him Alice, and sat down next to them. Sherlock had already turned on the computer as he came back to the sitting room, and he was on the website before he sat down. There were three minutes left on the countdown, and before _Kungliga Vetenskapsakademin_ entered the stage, Alice had calmed.

Sherlock sighed loudly when pictures of Tomas Lindahl, Paul Modrich and Aziz Sancar appeared on the screen. “Biochemistry,” he muttered.

“Oh, shut up,” John said.

“And they speak Swedish.” Sherlock turned off the feed as soon as the interview started.

Mary turned it on again. They were, in fact, speaking Swedish with Tomas Lindahl, at first, but switched to English. As soon as they did, Sherlock’s entire attention was turned back to the computer and the explanation of the mechanistic studies of DNA repair that was the basis of this year’s Nobel Prize in Chemistry. 

“Happy Chemistry Announcement Day,” John murmured under his breath, kissing Mary’s cheek.

Sherlock hushed him.

-x-

John sat down next to Sherlock, who was sitting glued to the not-yet-started live feed. “You don’t care about the Literature Prize.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” Sherlock muttered. He looked up, calling towards the kitchen. “Hurry up, Mary!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

“What’s going on?” John asked. “What’s different? Why do you care?” 

Sherlock waved at him to shut up. “History.”

Mary sat down on the other side of Sherlock, a newly awaken Alice on her lap. Sherlock gave them a quick glance, and a brief smile.

When the white doors of the Swedish Academy opened, John started to suspect why Sherlock showed a sudden interest in what he had previously described as “cultural corruption by elitist snobs whose native language make them sound like cartoon characters” – the person stepping out of the doors this time was a woman. It also made it clear why he had insisted on waking Alice.

“Never heard of her,” Mary said when it was announced that Svetlana Alexievich was this year’s winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature.

“No one ever has,” Sherlock said. “But that’s not the point. She is.”

“Who?”

Sherlock pointed at the screen. “Sara Danius. The first woman to ever announce a Nobel Prize.”

“History,” said John, repeating and understanding what Sherlock had said before.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, but if you get me a book of Alexievich for Christmas, I’m cutting a hole in all of your jumpers.”

John chuckled. “I would never.”

“You always do,” Sherlock muttered.

“Well, we read everything else, even the economic ones.”

Sherlock huffed, and reached for Alice who still struggled to wake up. He placed the girl in his lap and pointed at the screen. She seemed more interested in his hand than the historic event he was trying to explain to her.

John and Mary took each other’s hands behind Sherlock’s back. Sherlock’s efforts to find role models for Alice was endearing, and neither of them were going to protest, or say that maybe she still was a little bit too young for all of this.

-x-

“Wait, so let’s see if I get this,” Mary said, sitting cross legged on the floor, playing with Alice. “All prizes are handed out in Stockholm, except the Peace Prize because that’s handed out in Norway. Then on Monday, they hand out the Economy Prize – which isn’t even a real Nobel Prize – in Sweden like the rest of them?”

“Yes,” said Sherlock, who was coming over with the laptop so that they could all sit on the floor and watch the announcements from Oslo. 

“That makes no sense.”

“Traditions and ceremonies have a tendency not to,” Sherlock said, looking up at them. “It’s not like putting up a tree inside and hanging tinsel on it makes much sense either.”

“And the Peace Prize is okay even though the Literature Prize is ridiculous?”

“Yes.”

Mary shook her head. “Your dad makes no sense either,” she told Alice.

“I’m not her dad.” 

“Stop saying that, Sherlock,” John yelled from the kitchen. “Biology isn’t everything!”

Sherlock huffed, demonstratively turning up the sound on the laptop. 

“Really?” John said when he came into the sitting room and saw where Sherlock and Mary were sitting. “We’re three grown-ups and one baby, and she gets to decide where we sit?”

“Actually, we took a vote,” Mary said, grinning up at him. “You lost.”

“Seems like it,” John muttered, but got down on the floor just as well. 

They continued playing with Alice until the phone queue music stopped, and the doors to the Norska Nobelinstitutet opened. John excitedly patted Sherlock’s knee when he saw Kaci Kullmann Five walk up to the podium. Sherlock nodded to confirm that, yes, it was a woman who would announce this Nobel Prize too for the first time. 

“Wow,” Mary whispered when it was over. “I got chills.”

Sherlock nodded. “Some of these people do far more for humankind than the science prizes.”

“Yeah, I’d say,” Mary said. She looked at Alice. “Dad had a point.”

John reached out and squeezed Sherlock’s leg when he saw that he was about to protest being called dad again. Surprisingly, Sherlock fell silent. He just picked up the laptop to see if there were any way donate some money to, or in any other way support, the National Dialogue Quartet.

-x-

The weekend passed uneventfully. Sherlock engrossed himself in readings, while Mary discovered the joy that was the “what did you do when you got the call”-interviews. On Monday they all sat down on sofa once more and started the live stream from Stockholm to listen to the last of the announcement – even if it wasn’t a Nobel Prize. Sherlock dutifully commented on that twice, curled up in the corner of the sofa.

John and Mary both ignored him. 

”This is actually really interesting,” Sherlock whispered half-way through the presentation of Angus Deaton’s research.

“Impossible,” said John. “It’s not a Nobel Prize.”

“If you weren’t holding Alice, I’d push you off the sofa.”

“Be nice, or I’ll tell Mycroft what you just said.”

Sherlock waved his hand to get John to shut up, but they were starting to wrap up in Stockholm so John ignored him. 

“Does this insight mean that we’re going to read economic papers as well next year?”

“No,” Sherlock muttered. “I’m thinking about cutting the numbers of articles per field, not adding a whole new one.”

“I’m not complaining, but why?” Mary asked.

“Because time is limited,” Sherlock said, his eyes going to Alice. “And some things turn out to be more important than things that greatly benefits mankind.”


	2. Nobel 2067

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of these details are obviously lifted from how the Nobel circus is conducted today, but see the notes at the end for more info.

[Alice Watson] Watson

[Adam Smith] This is Adam Smith calling from Nobelprize.org, the official website of the Nobel Prize.

[AW] Hi, Adam, hello.

[AS] Congratulations, of course, on the award of the Nobel Prize.

[AW] Thank you. It’s… ah… something.

[AS] Yes, it certainly is. May I ask what you were doing when the news came?

[AW] I was actually preparing for a lecture. I was late; I had forgotten to put in the last slides. [Laughs] Don’t tell my students that. 

[AS] I promise. Did you finish in time?

[AW] You know what, getting a Nobel Prize is a great way of getting out of holding lectures. 

[AS] Yes, I can imagine you’ve had your morning full. Can I ask, what was your initial reaction on hearing the news?

[AW] It’s such a boring cliché, but I didn’t believe it was true. I thought it was a hoax; that one of my colleagues were setting this up. This week, I actually plan my entire schedule around the announcements every year, so that I can follow them via the live stream on Nobelprize.org. People tend to make fun of me for that. Lovingly, of course, but still, so I thought it had to be one of my friends.

[AS] So you knew that the prize was being announced today.

[AW] Oh, yes. It’s always been a tradition in my family to watch the announcements. 

[AS] Really?

[AW] Yes.

[AS] So what convinced you that it was actually true, then?

[AW] I asked Professor Bendjelloul, because he was the one calling me, who had won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 2028. [Laughs] I feel so cruel. He asked the room, I think, in Swedish and that’s when I knew, because had it been one of my friends they’d started laughing by then. 

[AS] Did they know who got the Chemistry Prize 2028?

[AW] You know, I can’t remember anymore.

[AS] So what was the first thing you did after you'd realised it was true and hung up the phone?

[AW] [Long pause] I wished for a Ouija board so I could tell my dad – and then I promised myself I wouldn’t say that in the interviews. But yes, I did. Then I debated for a long time if I was going to actually call my parents who are still alive, or if I would let them find out by watching the announcement.

[AS] So what did you decide?

[AW] I called them. [Laughs] My husband talked me into it. I’m almost regretting it now, it would have been a marvellous prank.

[AS] Yes, it probably would have. So, you share the prize with Professor Mohammad Ahmet for your work with antibiotic resistant bacteria and development of treatments for diseases we previously used antibiotics for. Have you been in contact with him yet?

[AW] Yes. [Laughs] He called me, screaming because I’d been on the phone with other people so he couldn’t reach me.

[AS] It’s the middle of the night for him, isn’t it?

[AW] Yes. I’m lucky I’m just one hour off, or it would have taken even longer before I realised it was true. Christ, I’m still not sure it is. Tell me it is.

[AS] [Laughs] It’s most definitely true. I wish you congratulations again, and I’m looking forward meeting you in Stockholm in December.

[AW] Oh, me too. Thank you so much for calling, Adam. 

[AS] Thank _you_. Good bye, and have a lovely day.

[AW] You too.

* * *

The trumpets sounded for the second time this evening, and the hum of voices that filled the enormous dining hall of the Nobel Center quiet down almost completely. Once again, a young woman, wearing a black ball gown and a white student cap, stood in the podium with a spotlight on her. 

“Eder majestäter, ärade pristagare, mina damer och herrar,” she said in Swedish, as custom held it. “Det är en stor ära att få presentera Nobelpristagare i Fysiologi eller Medicin: doktor Alice Watson. Your Royal Highnesses, honoured laureates, ladies and gentlemen. It’s a great honour to introduce the Nobel laureate in Physiology or Medicine: Doctor Alice Watson.”

Alice took a last, deep breath and exchanged a quick look with her husband who was sitting four seats down, next to the bloody Crown princess of Sweden. He smiled at her, beaming with pride. Alice didn’t manage to smile back, she was too nervous, but her legs felt steady enough when her chair was pulled out and she stood up. She walked slowly behind the backs of all the other guests of honours (she could reach out and pull the tiara of the Swedish Prime minister, it was actually possible!) but held her head high and looked at the podium that was now vacated for her sake.

She knew that there were three cameras pointed at her, and that this was going out live in seven countries, plus the internet. No pressure, but for the love of _GOD_ don’t trip on the dress.

In the podium lay her notes (which she had submitted beforehand) waiting for her. The spotlight was blissfully blinding her, making it impossible for her to see the 1500 dining guests below, who, at least half of them were watching her. The schedule was tight, and she had been instructed to not speak for more than five minutes, but she took a moment to just look out over the room even though she didn’t see anything other than shadows. Her hands shook as she reached for the notes. 

“Your Royal Highnesses, my dear fellow laureates, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, her voice bright and strong. “First, I want to thank the Swedish Royal Academy of Science for this incredible honour. You can’t find a scientist in the world who will say they do their research to get a Nobel Prize. The road between where you start your career and that possible stroke of luck and genius that might earn you a Nobel Prize in the end is so long and winding that you can’t possibly see it. Going into scientific research to win a Nobel Prize is insane, and that’s why I must admit that I did.”

There was a short burst of laughter among the people in the crowed, and Alice, who found herself reading her notes off the paper, forced herself to look up again. 

“I grew up learning the name of the Nobel laureates; they were my superstars. When other children dreamt about winning the World Cup, I dreamt of this. I dreamt about being able to give a speech at the Nobel banquet. So when I use Newton’s tired quote that I’m standing on the shoulders of giants, I know what I’m talking about. Because I do stand on the shoulders of giants, of women and men who came before me, who fought my fight for me, who lay the foundation of what we today call ‘general knowledge’. Without their work, there is a risk that I wouldn’t be standing before you today and I find myself often wondering, how can I repay these people for what they’ve done for me.

“In my home when I was a child, knowledge was always at the heart of everything. It was the treasure and learning was the key to unlock it. I was taught to ask ‘why’ and ‘how’ and I was never told to stop – so I never did. Lately, with three children of my own, the question I find myself asking most often is ‘How did my parents ever have the patience to do this?’”

Alice stopped to take a breath as the polite chuckle spread, and died down again. Her hands were still trembling, and her mouth felt dry. She wondered how long she had talked, if she was speeding or if she risked going over. 

“It’s important to find the patience, though. We need to find the time for learning, we need to create the space for it. In our everyday life, in our children’s lives. Everyday people discover things for the first time, everyday people learn about new things, and that’s one of the most powerful things there is. Being able to teach someone something, being able to show something, share something, is one of the most beautiful and rewarding thing there is. I’m not just talking about what we in academia often refer to as knowledge and learning, because every day someone finds out who Luke Skywalker’s real father is and why it’s a bad idea to use soap in the dishwasher.”

Once again there was a soft buzz of voices rising up from the people at the tables, and Alice could imagine both her parents telling the people they were sitting next to about the time she’d been twelve and used hand soap in the dishwasher. 

“We get to teach our children this. We get to share these things with our friends. And we get to learn from them in exchange. We get to be teachers and students every day, if we’re just open to it, and this is what moves us forward, this is what makes us excel as a species. Teaching our children what has been taught to us, paying it forward, passing on the knowledge, that’s how we can repay all the ones who came before us. So I might stand on the shoulders of giants, but that’s only because people helped me climb up here, and I hope that I can help someone else climb even higher than I could ever imagine.”

Alice quickly looked down at her notes before raising her head again.

“Thank you. I hope you will enjoy the rest of your evening.”

The room filled with applauds. It felt strange to receive applauds for this, but she herself had already applauded one of her fellow laureates during the dinner for a similar speech. The young woman with the student cap who had escorted her to the podium also followed her back to her seat. On her way back, Alice caught the eye of her husband who grinned and not-so-discreetly held up two thumbs. Alice smiled at him, he was dork and she loved him.

She tried to make eye contact with her parents as well, but there were too many heads and flower decorations in the way. A little bit disappointed, Alice sat down at the table. She looked down at her hands, they were still trembling, but now it was done and she could actually enjoy the rest of the evening.

* * *

The Nobel circus was completely insane. Completely. Between chair signings, lectures, tours and interviews there was no time to really pause and reflect on any of it, but that might actually be for the best.

Dr Alice Watson was standing in small room with huge windows, three TV cameras, insane lighting and screens that did things she couldn’t even imagine. The interview studio in the Nobel Center was furnished with two chairs and a rug, screaming of Scandinavian design. The statement was almost tacky. In the corner of the room the woman who was going to interview Alice was going over something with the camera man in Swedish.

Alice didn’t know what to do with herself. After all the excitement, all the nerves, all the meetings, it felt strange to be in a room with only five other people. Downstairs the banquet was still going, but she didn’t mind getting away for a bit. Not at all actually.

“Dr Watson,” the interviewer said, approaching with a welcoming smile. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. Alva Bergström.”

“Alice Watson,” Alice said, taking Alva’s hand. “And no problem. It’s nice having some... quiet time.” 

“Not much of that lately, I can imagine.”

“Not since October really, no.”

“Hopefully you’ll get the chance to catch your breath once this week is over. Shall we begin so that you can go back down to the party?”

Alice took a deep breath. “Yes, let’s do this.”

They sat down in the chairs. Alva exchanged some words in Swedish with the cameraman again, pointing at the cameras one after the other. 

“Okay, ladies, in three… two… one…” the cameraman pointed at Alva who started talking to the camera in Swedish. A very short introduction, probably not more than two sentences. She turned to Alice. 

“Welcome, Dr Alice Watson.”

“Thank you.”

“Congratulations on your Nobel Prize.”

“Thank you.”

“I heard a rumour,” Alva said, smiling in a way that made it obvious where she was going. 

“Oh, did you now?” said Alice, smiling as well. She’d thought she would have been tired of this line of questioning by now, but she wasn’t. If it was one time she really wanted to talk about her dad, then it was today.

“Yes, it’s said that you and your family really go all in when it comes to the Nobel Prize.”

“We do. It’s like a second Christmas – dad hated that we called it that, so obviously we call it that all the time.”

“You celebrate it like a holiday?”

“Definitely. A long one. September we spend reading publications and articles, then we follow the announcements closely and read up about the discoveries actually rewarded that year. Then when the lectures are available online we watch them too. Rarely together, but still. And mum and I listen to the phone interviews with the laureates too; the ones that Nobelprize.org do.”

“That’s… amazing.”

Alice smiled. “It’s not what people usually say, but I really think it is.”

“What does people usually say?”

“That we’re incurable nerds. Though there might be something to that as well.”

“Do your children participate as well?”

“My son – he’s really enthusiastic about it. My daughters both refuse the reading, but they watch the announcements.”

“And it was your father who started this tradition, yes?”

“Yes, dad started doing this in 1996, I think it was. Then he didn’t give mum and dad a choice in matter, he just gave them the articles to read. For me, it was natural. I didn’t question it. To me, it was a normal part of the year… like Christmas.”

“And just because that sentence might confuse someone, you grew up with two fathers.”

“Ah, yes. Two dads, one mum. And because I was a stupid child, I called them both ‘dad’. It has never not been confusing, believe me. My own children are much cleverer, naming them ‘grandpapa’ and ‘granddad’.”

“Which of them started this tradition?”

“Grandpapa.”

“He, sadly, didn’t get to share this moment with you.”

Alice shook her head. “He died four years ago.”

“I’m sorry; I’m sure he would be really proud of you.”

“He’d said it’s surprising to give the prize to a medicine discovery three years in a row, and then comment on the fact that he was right in telling me to not change my field of study for sentimental reasons.”

“Well, he was right.”

“He almost always was.” 

“And your father is also connected to what you’ve already decided to spend the award money on.”

“Yes,” Alice said, feeling that her smile had become very stiff and unnatural. She realised she could kill this discussion here, but she had already decided that she’d run it all the way till the end. “A small part of it is going to my own research, but most of it is going into three different Alzheimer research programs.” 

“That’s a really fantastic thing to do,” said Alva, and moved on. “You share the prize today with Professor Mohammad Ahmet, and you two have been working together for a long time.”

“Yes, we met when I did a post-doc exchange in Australia. It’s just lovely to share this with him…”

They went on talking for another four minutes about the discoveries and the research, and how it was to have your closest colleague on the other side of the world. When the interview was over, and the cameras were turned off, Alice’s smile was easy and soft again. 

Alva exhaled loudly, and heaved herself out of the chair. “Do you need help?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” said Alice as she got on her feet. 

Alva held out her hand. “Thank you again, it was lovely.”

“Thank you. You too.”

“I’m sorry if the questions got a little close,” Alva said. “I just find it so fascinating. You’ve really grown up with this prize, and now you have it yourself. It’s almost a fairy tale.”

Alice laughed. “It’s all right. It’s quite unique, I suppose. And today of all days, I must talk about dad. Thank you for letting me.”

“Of course.” They had reached the door, and Alva let her out. They said good bye, and a young man in tails and a white student cap escorted Alice back to the table in the great hall.

* * *

John and Mary found each other quickly after all the guests at the table of honour had retreated for a moment to a more private room while the other guests cleared out the dining hall and filled the dance floor. Mary linked her index finger with John’s and they stood at the wall, trying to find their daughter among all the royals and politicians and Nobel laureates. Suddenly, like a sea parting, Alice came towards them, her green dress moving in the wind her movement created.

She hugged them both – Mary first, then John – wordlessly. John didn’t really want to let go, but when he did, Alice took both their hands.

“You did so good,” Mary said, squeezing her hand. “You didn’t sound nervous at all.”

Alice laughed. “I thought I was going to throw up when I sat down again, I was so relieved!”

“That might just have been the entrée,” said John. “It was strange, wasn’t it?”

“You should try eating it with a neutral face with the cameras on you.”

They all smiled, standing silently in a ring, holding hands. There was a lot of sound and movement around them, talk and laugh and footsteps, but for a moment it was peaceful, and it was just the three of them.

“I miss dad,” Alice said. 

John nodded, Mary squeezed both their hands. They didn’t have to say anything else, because this feeling of loss had been with them since the call had come in October. Someone was missing, and that someone was Sherlock.

“He’d be so proud of you,” Mary finally said. 

Alice nodded. “I know.”

“We’re proud of you too,” John said, giving her cheek a kiss. 

“I’m proud of me too,” said Alice, leaning closer to them and whispered. “I’ve gone the entire week without telling Professors Nakamura and Kashyap that their prize isn’t a real Nobel Prize.”

“Good girl,” John said, amused. “Keep that up.”

Alice laughed, promising that she would, and hugged both her parents again, before leaving them to find her own children before they would do something they shouldn’t. 

“It’s a good thing she looks like me, otherwise I’d be sure she was his,” John said as they watched her walk away. 

Mary buffed his shoulder with her own. “Watch yourself, old man.”

John smiled, kissing her cheek. “We did good, didn’t we?”

“We did,” she said, smiling. She looked over to Alice who was busy examining a spot on her son’s shirt.

“Do you remember her first Nobel?”

“It was my first Nobel too.”

“He was so excited.”

Mary nodded. “He should have been here.”

John nodded too. Sherlock really should have been here, to see their greatest contribution to humankind get the acknowledgement for hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) [Nobelprize.org](http://www.nobelprize.org/), the official website of the Nobel Prize, does phone interviews with all the Nobel laureates an hour or so after they have received the call from Stockholm. They are all adorable! 
> 
> The first part is a transcript of Alice's interview.
> 
> 2) The Nobel Center is still in its planning stage, but I imagine that in 2067 it will exist and will then be the place for the Nobel banquet (and all other things Nobel).
> 
> 3) It's tradition for the Nobel laureates to sign their name under the seat of a chair in the Nobel Museum's cafe. So if you're in Stockholm, you can see chairs with Dalai Lama's and President Barack Obama's signatures on.


End file.
